


An Ode Less Traveled

by Trista_zevkia



Series: Platonic [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics), Superman/Batman - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Platonic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:10:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://zeejaybay.livejournal.com/">zeejaybay</a> suggested pretend sex to get rid of watching eyes. Alfred kills Clark, Batman electrifies produce, and there is a proposal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ode Less Traveled

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies to Stephen Fry, for the stealing of the title of his most excellent book on poetry, An Ode Less Traveled. But it's hysterical, isn't it? It is possible to electrify pickles, and die from it, so don't try this at home. Batman is a professional cranky geezer. I got most of the poem from a Craig list ad re-posted on an LJ comm for it's comedic value.

“Batman, we need to have a discussion after the meeting.” Somebody might have made an ‘ohh someone’s going to get it’ noise at that, but Superman was very serious. The Blue Beetle might have an immunity to electricity, but that didn’t mean it was safe to electrify a pickle. Everyone knew Beetle loved pickles.

“Then you should start the meeting without making everybody wait in the cafeteria.” Batman wasn’t the least bit contrite as he moved toward the now opened meeting rooms. 

Members of the Justice League were slow to follow him in, afraid of being trapped in a room with Batman and no medical equipment except what he deigned to give them. 

Superman returned to the meeting room, hoping that Batman hadn’t set up a booby trapped pickle to cause a commotion and get Superman out of the room. No, Superman found it more likely that Batman was retaliating for being left out of the planning meeting with the Green Lantern Corps. Superman had told them it was a bad idea to exclude Batman. Next time he’d have to bring up safety concerns; the safety of the rest of the JL. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Meetings and emergency medical services out of the way, Superman tracked Batman to his spartan room in the Watchtower. Batman unlocked the door when Superman identified himself, so at least Superman didn’t have to cut open the door. Bruce had his cape and cowl off as he did something intricate to a dismantled device, still in his gloves. Fortunately, Clark didn’t see any pickles and sat on the bed as he spoke. 

“What was that about?” 

“Why would you pick up a glowing pickle?” 

“That is the least of my concerns, my mad scientist companion.” Clark said, but knew Bruce wasn’t likely to address any of Clark’s concerns except the one that mattered. “Is something bothering you, Bruce?” 

Bruce didn’t answer, as his screen chimed at him. A few adjustments and Alfred’s face appeared on the screen. 

“Forgive the interruption, sir, but your secret admirer stopped by.” 

Bruce groaned, and Clark leaned forward to hear about this. 

“Same offerings as usual?” 

“Not exactly.” Bruce perked up a little at Alfred’s words, only to groan again when Alfred went on. “This offering attempted to venture into the world of poetry, instead of literotica.” 

Clark made a funny sound behind Bruce and tried to move out of the range of the camera. 

“Alfred, you’re a super villain now.” 

“Indeed, sir?” 

“You’ve managed to kill Superman. I think he swallowed his own tongue at the idea of you knowing what literotica is.” 

“When he regains consciousness, please inform him that knowing of the existence of a thing does not make one a user.” 

Clark still didn’t risk breathing, but he made a thumbs-up gesture to the camera, to let Alfred know it was alright. 

“The stalker left the same clues, right?” 

“Yes sir. And I would like to point out that scraping semen samples off your gate is not part of my job description.” 

Clark snorted a laugh in his nose and Bruce ignored him. 

“I’m sorry Alfred, I never thought Brucie would get a stalker. What do they see in that guy?” 

“I have an idea what this particular individual sees. From his own words, I believe he wants to take you from the evils of women for some debauchery with him.” Clearing his throat, Alfred held an evidence bag up. An 8x10 photo of Brucie faced the camera as Alfred’s deep, cultured voice read the words on the back. 

“You are a slut. A secret slut.  
Verily, you will be my secret slut  
The women flock to you, but you,  
You're looking at the cock shots.  
You're fighting your desire to get fucked.  
Naughtiness runs through your veins.  
And your boypussy has a mind of his own.  
I wait for my love, and how you will smile,  
I will be taken, my cock weeping with joy.” 

Behind him, Bruce heard Clark fall off the bed in an effort to stifle his laughter. 

“Alfred, you’ve killed Superman twice in one day. That’s a record.” 

“I will prepare the dessert of his choice to make it up to him. Are you requesting his assistance with this mess, sir?” 

“I’ll be home shortly, Alfred.” 

“And will the naughtiness in your veins require anything?” 

Bruce switched off the monitor, allowing Clark to laugh properly. Putting his mask back on, Bruce put away all the components of the device he had been working on. Clark was still on the floor where he’d fallen off Bruce’s bed, but he seemed to be struggling to speak. 

“Weeping, boypussy.” Clark managed before falling into laughter again. 

Bruce sighed. “Lock the door on your way out.” 

Exiting the room, a passing flash of red stopped, revealing a Flash too surprised at the laughter coming out of Batman’s room to run. Shaking his head, Batman walked by Flash and headed home. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Bruce was miserably pecking at the keys on his massive underground computers when Clark found him a few hours later. 

“No clues on the stalker?” To Clark’s credit, he almost managed to get the whole sentence out before giggling. 

“Plenty of clues, no leads.” 

“How’s that?” 

“He leaves sperm and fingerprints everywhere, but he doesn’t have a record, so I don’t have anything to compare them to.” 

“Video footage?” 

“It’s cold out, so he wears a thick jacket and a large hat that hides his face.” 

“Yet he still manages to masturbate in the cold.” 

“I’m sure that he uses the pictures several times before writing on the back and sending them to me. You know, just in case he can’t perform in the cold.” 

“No car?” 

“No, a cheap bicycle you can buy at any chain store.” 

“A bike? Then why haven’t you caught him?” 

“Alarms don’t go off until he touches the fence, putting the picture on it. I have enough to do without staking out my own yard. Dirt bike, cuts through the woods, which he’s clearly familiar with.” Bruce sighs, uncharacteristically out of ideas. “I can’t even make sense of his jerk-off schedule. Here, you figure it out.” 

Bruce pointed to a schedule he had on one screen, and Clark studied it. “He has a day job.” 

Bruce sighed in response; it was pretty obvious. The guy never showed up between midnight and six pm. 

“Huh.” Clark said, getting a patent pending Batglare of Angranny: annoyance in the right eye, anger in the left. “Your stalker hates football.” 

That got a look of surprise from Bruce. Clark was careful not to smirk, least Bruce reject his theory. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Whenever he’s here, there’s a football game on TV.” 

“There’s always a game on somewhere, I think there is even a pigskin channel that shows reruns of football games.” 

“True, but whenever there is a new, pro game on basic channels, this guy rides over to jerk off on your gates.” 

“He’s punching his munchkin over the picture, he just has terrible aim.” 

“You just said punching the munchkin so I wouldn’t ask how you missed this.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes, apparently over the idea he’d worked so hard to make Clark believe: Bruce knew everything. “I don’t have time to watch TV. I read the synopsis so I have some idea what the show is about if I hear a reference somewhere.” 

“It’s not TV, it’s football.” 

“It’s stupid and boring, unless you’re training to be a pickpocket.” 

“I don’t even want to know. Tomorrow’s Monday, though.” 

“So?” 

“Monday night football doesn’t ring any bells with you?” 

“So now all I have to do is bait a trap.” 

“Right. He thinks you’re straight, but will go gay to be with him. So go gay with another guy and he’ll crawl out of the woodwork.” 

“The problem is finding someone who won’t mind me pretending to sex them up.” 

Clark laughed, and knelt before Bruce. Bruce’s eyebrows went spelunking in his hair as Clark raised his clasped hands. 

“Bruce, would you manipulate the emotions of you stalker with me?” 

“There’s no one I’d rather manipulate.” Bruce said with a smile. 

“With.” 

“Right, with. Didn’t I say that?” 

“Your stalker just might be too good for you.” Clark shook his head as he stood, hiding a grin. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Clark showed up at the front door of the manor, dressed to the nines. He’d scanned the woods and knew they were alone, but he still went through the motions. Alfred answered the door, lips twitching at the box of chocolates Clark had brought. Bruce rolled his eyes and muttered about the ribbon on the box clashing with his tux. Dinner was on the covered patio, romantic and well lit so anyone at the front gate had a good view. 

They talked softly of random things, enjoying each other more than they would admit. Clark occasionally would look around, but didn’t see anything yet. He hoped the stalker wouldn’t show up, but wasn’t about to tell this to Bruce. Clark considered this the best stakeout in history and could spend the rest of his life repeating it. 

With each dish Alfred brought out, Clark would scoot a little closer to Bruce. By the after dinner brandy, or whatever Bruce drank instead of alcohol, Clark was almost in Bruce’s lap. Alfred showed up to refill the drinks, and Bruce dismissed him with a sweeping gesture. Assured they were alone for the time being, Clark did move into Bruce’s lap, chest to chest. 

Clark thought he might be forgetting something, but leaned in for a kiss. Bruce moved at the same time, so they got each other’s right ear. Clark decided that would work and started nibbling on the earlobe. Bruce’s carefully thought out words dissolved into a hiss of pleasure, and Clark added a sucking action to his earlobe seduction. This stakeout was getting better every second. 

Bruce tried to move but it only opened a new area of skin for Clark to explore. The spot where Bruce’s neck met the back of his jawbone, made Bruce curl his hands around Clark’s shoulders when it was licked. Intrigued Clark leaned in to find out what suction on that spot would do, and Bruce tried to move. Slowly, they toppled to Clark’s right side, the fancy chair not being up to the task of supporting two large men making out. 

Crashing a chair apparently knocked Bruce’s brain into gear, and he separated their bodies as he got to his feet. “Clark, I think you’ve lost the purpose of this exercise.” 

Clark got to his feet and dusted off his good suit, to try and remember what that purpose was. 

“You really have!” 

“No, I’m simply a wonderful actor. It’s hard, you know, to pretend to be attracted to you. A mansion and untold wealth hold no interest for me. So I have to make do with that fierce body, so graceful when you aren’t pretending. That face is cheating, like you picked it out of a catalog, the hair is way too perfect. How many times has your nose been broken, and it’s still perfect? And let’s talk about those eyes, shall we?” 

“Don’t mock my Mom’s eyes.” Bruce’s voice was steady, which showed he wasn’t sure what Clark meant by his words. He’d be pissed if he thought Clark was mocking him, and even angrier if he thought Clark was complimenting him. 

Clark shrugged, and moved toward Bruce, who tried not to back away. “Surely you’re not forgetting why we’re out here?” 

“It’s a first date, I don’t think we need to go all the way.” 

“You should have limited the bases I could round before we started this.” Clark waggled his eyebrows, and Bruce did take two steps back. This put the short, decretive stone fence against the back of his legs. “Looks like you’re trapped.” Clark stepped forward and rubbed his erection against Bruce. “Between a rock and a hard place.” 

“You and the puns are going to kill me before Joker has a chance.” 

“I hope Joker never gets the chance to do this.” Before Bruce could ask, Clark dropped to his knees and opened Bruce’s fly. “Look who’s happy to see me!” 

“If I let you put my cock in your mouth, would it shut you up?” Bruce asked, but he wasn’t putting up any signs of resistance. In fact, his cock was almost in complete control of his thinking, if the way he was looking at Clark was any indication. 

“Only one way to find out.” Clark punctuated his reasonable suggestion with a lick at the head. 

Bruce settled himself so the fence held his weight, hands curling around it. Figuring that was approval, Clark licked down to the base of Bruce’s cock. A few more licks around the shaft and Clark went back to the head. He sucked a little, wanting a good taste. When the stone started to creak from the way Bruce was crushing it in his hands, Clark swallowed Bruce down. Nose to groin in one thrust, because he was Superman and he could deepthroat if he wanted to. A few swallows got Bruce crushing the fence again, so Clark started to talk. 

“No, I don’t think this will shut me up.” It came out an unintelligible gaggle of syllables, so Clark considered he could say whatever he wanted. “I’m going to dig your balls out of your pants now.” 

Clark did as he said he would, and Bruce gasped in surprise. Clark chuckled, and Bruce tried to thrust. Gently rubbing Bruce’s balls, Clark reached for a solid handful of ass with his other hand. 

“I hereby name your penis the Batcock.” A moan, and Bruce came, splashing down Clark’s throat. Clark moved back and licked Bruce until he was soft and moaning at the overload of sensation. 

“What did you say?” Bruce finally asked, which Clark took as his cue to stand up. 

“You couldn’t tell?” 

“No, but I have a newfound appreciation of consonants.” 

“Weirdo.” 

“Speaking of, did you check for my stalker recently? I mean, I’d hate to put you through all this trouble for nothing.” 

“It’s no trouble. Anytime you want Alfred to make me a fancy meal, I’ll be more than willing to eat it.” 

“Stalker, Clark.” 

“I’m looking.” 

“Listen too.” 

“You have a vast array of methods to tell me to shut up. Huh.” Clark had more to say, but the sound he’d heard attracted his attention. Would Alfred allow duct tape in his kitchen? 

“Huh?” 

“I heard a noise, I’ll go check it out and be right back.” 

“Tell me…” Bruce got the first part of the command out but Clark was speeding away so he wouldn’t have to hear it. 

The footsteps that followed the command showed Bruce wasn’t going to wait around, ask Clark expected. He’d have to do this quick. At human speed, Clark walked into Alfred’s immaculate kitchen, to see Alfred inspecting that floor up close and personal. The stalker should have gone after Clark, or even Bruce. Shoving Alfred to the floor would bring down the wraith of Batman on the confused kid trying on Alfred’s jacket. 

“What’s going on in here?” Clark asked, as if there was a good reason for Alfred to be on the floor. 

“You hussy!” The kid screamed, and threw himself at Clark. This made it easy for Clark to hold him and eyebeam Alfred free of the tape. Backing up a little, Clark held the kitchen door closed with his immovable body. 

“Bruce doesn’t know you, does he?” Up close, the kid looked older, though he was still thin as a rail. He struggled against Clark, but Clark was listening to the breathing on the other side of the door. 

“No, but we were made to be together! I’ll be his butler, and he’ll fall in love with me.” 

“If you’ve never met, how do you know you were meant to be together?” Clark hoped talking would calm the guy down. Shame that wouldn’t work on Bruce. 

“I’m Wayne, our names are the same!” 

Clark felt a rush of pity for this guy, and the form his mental imbalance had taken. “Nice to meet you, I’m Clark.” 

Quiet footsteps walked away from the door, and Bruce pulled out his cell phone to call the cops. Guessing he had a few minutes to kill, Clark tried to think of something pleasant to talk about with Wayne. “So, what do you like most about Bruce?” 

“Those eyes.” Wayne said in a dreamy voice, as he stopped struggling. “I didn’t know what bedroom eyes meant until I saw his picture.” 

“I know! That color is amazing.” 

“Those lips have got to be made for blow jobs. Can you imagine how they’d look, wrapped around your cock?” 

Clark held his tongue, thinking about how close he’d been to seeing that when this guy had attacked Alfred. Crazy guy was on his favorite topic though, and didn’t need anybody else’s input, while he talked. Clark scanned Alfred, noticing only a tiny bump where Wayne had hit him on the head. Sirens were coming, but Clark kept the kitchen door closed until the cops actually got there. 

Alfred locked the window Wayne had used to enter, moments before Bruce showed up to knock on it. Mutually, silently, Clark and Alfred had agreed that Bruce didn’t need to know what had happened until the cops were present. Just as Clark and Alfred had agreed, so long ago, to watch out for Bruce when he wouldn’t watch out for himself. 

  
sB _Sb_ Bs  


The Flash had been getting on everyone’s nerves this meeting, but Batman hadn’t called him on it. That was strange enough that everybody else let their annoyance at Flash go. After the meeting, Superman found his way over to ask about this strange event. Batman’s lip twitched, a sign of great humor, when he saw Superman coming toward him.

“Superman, I have an update for you.” 

“On what?” 

“That stalker case from a few weeks ago. He’s in Arkham, drawing pictures and boring everyone to death with descriptions of his loved one.” 

“That’s what he’s been doing ever since he was arrested.” 

“Yes, but now I’ve got one of his pictures. The shrink wanted to know if I ever wore glasses.” Handing over the badly sketched drawing, Bruce smirked as realization dawned on Clark. Two dark haired men, brilliant blue eyes, and one in a thick pair of glasses he didn’t need. “You should have been less free with the information. Wayne Clarkson thinks you’re his other dad.” 

By the time Clark thought of a safe thing to say, Bruce was gone. Our kids wouldn’t be that crazy would not have been a safe thing to say. 

sB _Sb_ Bs


End file.
